


The Love Letter

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 22:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14703831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: Mòrag gets some mail from her admirers, and from one admirer in particular.





	The Love Letter

**Author's Note:**

> i'm still very much into the concept of morag having a bunch of fangirls and being politely oblivious to how weird it can be

Mythra knocks on their door, then immediately barges in.

“Oh, please, do come in,” Brighid sarcastically says. She’s sitting by one of the beds, a book in hand. Mòrag is hunched over at a cramped table with a stack of papers beside her, apparently so engrossed in whatever she’s writing that she doesn’t even lift her head to greet Mythra or acknowledge her intrusion.

“We’re getting started on dinner." Mythra jabs a thumb over her shoulder, ignoring Brighid’s snipe. "Will you two be joining us?”

“After knocking, one typically waits for a response before opening the door.”

“Sure. So are you guys gonna come out of your room or not?”

“Really, you could have interrupted something.”

“But I didn’t.” Mythra rolls her eyes and taps the side of her head. “Foresight, remember? I would’ve known if you didn’t want me to come in. Anyway, don’t say I didn’t remind you guys that dinner’s happening.”

Brighid only shakes her head, clearly not buying that excuse of foresight. Mythra narrows her eyes, somehow affronted by the lack of a proper response from both present parties in the room, and turns her attention to Mòrag (who still hasn’t stopped writing). She kicks the door shut behind her and strides across to look over Mòrag’s shoulder.

As if sensing a different kind of danger with her own instinctual sort of premonition, Brighid stands up.

“Hey, Mòrag." Mythra prods her.

Mòrag’s hand goes still. She looks up at Mythra with a neutral tilt of her head. “Ah. Apologies, Mythra. I didn’t hear you enter.”

“Busy with your usual paperwork?”

“No, not quite.”

“Lady Mòrag is responding to some personal mail. That’s all,” Brighid chimes in.

“Personal… mail?” That one’s from Pyra; she seamlessly takes Mythra’s place, her stance changing to a more gently curious one. “You mean from the Emperor?”

Mòrag spins the pen in her hand, clearly trying to craft her words carefully before speaking. She almost looks downright troubled, but in a… different sort of way. Pyra isn’t quite sure how to describe it. As far as she can recall, Mòrag has never, ever shown that kind of expression. When Pyra looks to Brighid, she only shrugs.

“No, not from the Emperor. From… well, how should I put this…” In very serious, contemplative thought, Mòrag leans back in her seat so far that Pyra’s afraid she might tip over.

“Lady Mòrag regularly gets letters from her many admirers. Once a week, she takes the time to respond to _every single one.”_

“Ah— yes, that’s it. Thank you, Brighid.”

The front legs of her chair come back down to the floor, to Pyra’s relief.

“Oh! That’s so sweet,” Pyra says, smiling. “I can’t imagine how happy they must be to get a letter from the Flamebringer herself.”

“She _insists_ on writing a personalized response to each letter,” Brighid says. She shakes her head with far too much transparent fondness. “Even though it can take hours, considering the sheer volume she receives.”

“Politics are a rather messy affair, particularly within the upper echelons of the Empire’s hierarchy. Maintaining connections with the commonfolk is far more rewarding and humbling in comparison.”

“Commonfolk. Is that what we’re referring to them by now, Lady Mòrag?”

“Hush, Brighid. You know what I mean.”

Pyra’s beaming at them, turning left and right to follow their exchange. She can practically feel the glowing warmth emanating through the dusty inn room. Although, maybe it’s just the natural heat both she and Brighid give off. Could be either or.

Then, Mythra is there in her place, scowling and separating her hands to place them on her hips. “Look, there’s a big plate of Estral Steaks out there and I’d rather grab my fill before the boys inhale all of it down.”

“Go ahead by yourself. We’ll join you shortly— I only have…. fourteen more to write.”

“Seriously?” Mythra could just leave them and go eat, but… maybe Pyra’s curiosity is infecting her, because rather than taking Mòrag’s words as they are and leaving, she snatches up one of the letters and skims over it before Mòrag can even react.

“ _Dear Special Inquisitor Lady Mòrag,_ ” Mythra reads out loud, squinting. Mòrag quietly sighs through her nose, but makes no attempt to take the letter back. “ _I’m having a birthday party come the turn of the season and I would be over the moon if you could attend. If you’re busy that day, I would be more than happy to simply have tea with you the next time you are in Alba Cavanich and not too busy. Perhaps we could talk about whatever pleases you until night falls. You’re so elegant and graceful and strong, thank you for serving our country. With love, Nolha._ ”

“Nolha,” Mòrag nods in recognition of the name. “I’ve received many letters from her over the course of my service as Special Inquisitor.”

Mythra grimaces and puts the paper down.

“Are all of the other letters also like this?”

“Just about.”

“Wow. Your schedule must be absolutely packed with having drinks with starry-eyed women.”

“W-well, as rude as it is to turn them down, it’s simply unrealistic for me to be able to meet all of them individually…”

To that, Mythra just snorts and shakes her head. It’s easy to forget how ridiculous Mòrag can be when she acts so damn serious all the time. She tries to imagine what Rex would do if he would ever receive those kinds of letters— right, as if that would ever happen. She nearly laughs out loud at the thought. Brighid is coming over now, book put aside, and Pyra takes Mythra’s place again.

“Still, taking the time to respond to them is already going above and beyond, especially if you get so many.” Pyra picks up another letter at random, her motion much more careful and considerate than Mythra's had been. “May I?”

Mòrag nods, and Pyra carefully unfolds it to read, clearing her throat.

“ _To my Lady Mòrag_ ,” she begins, eyes scanning the page. “ _To your razor wit, to your oceanic calm, to your gentle hand like gossamer wisp; to your tender words, to your fervent gaze, I will always_ … oh, wow, is this a love letter? This is… this is definitely a love letter. _Oh_.”

“Ah. That one must be from Brighid, then," Mòrag casually says.

Brighid violently coughs into a fist; the back of Mòrag’s coat suddenly ignites. She doesn’t seem to notice.

Pyra drops the letter in alarm, but before she can point out that Mòrag is in danger of burning, Mythra takes her place. She lowers her arms and slowly backs off, eyes darting between Brighid's threatening stance and Mòrag's oblivious gaze.

“Right… right. Well… that’s weird. Alright, I’m gonna go have dinner, then—“

Pyra manages to surface just for a second to cry out: “Mòrag, you’re on fire—“

“—I’ll save some steaks for you guys!” And Mythra makes a break for the door and quickly exits before Brighid can set her on fire as well.

Mòrag frowns at the dropped letter and leans over to pick it up, no longer unaware of the fire, but clearly unconcerned about the fact that her coat is smoldering. It's not like she'd _actually_ burn. Brighid is already sheepishly putting out the flames, anyway.

“I’m sorry, Brighid. Did I offend you?” Mòrag stares at her for a moment, brows knitted in worry, then she looks down to read the rest of the letter. Brighid sits at the edge of the bed, very tempted to hide her face in her hands. It only takes a brief pause for Mòrag to read it, but the stretch of silence might as well be an eternity.

“... This may be your best one yet. I mean it. You've truly outdone yourself.”

“It was meant to be read by your eyes only, as all the other ones have been…”

“I’m sorry,” Mòrag says again, rather awkward now. She offers a tepid smile and moves from her chair to sit beside Brighid, still holding the letter. “I… realize it's rather odd, for you to write these when we're hardly ever apart these days, but you must believe me when I say that I always look forward to your letters the most.”

That does it. Brighid raises her hands to her face and consciously tries not to set Mòrag on fire again. She doesn’t even say those things like… that, on purpose, the things that are exactly the reason why Brighid started writing those stupid letters. No, it must have started back when she was sent away to Gormott for the first time. Either way.

Sometimes, it’s just cathartic to put all those feelings to words, that’s all. Even if those words are overwrought with thick emotion and are too embarrassing to share with anyone else.

Brighid shakes her head and Mòrag’s expression preemptively falls. Just to reassure her, she leans in and briefly allows their lips to brush together. One of Mòrag’s arms cautiously curls around her waist, testing the waters, wordlessly asking for just a bit more.

She smiles, and Mòrag takes that cue to throw caution to the wind and fully embrace her.

“No, I don’t imagine I’ll be running out of things to write about anytime soon," Brighid murmurs.


End file.
